


Late

by orphan_account



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dry Humping, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, shamless smut, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 23:01:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s late. Neither of you can be bothered to undress. This is the compromise.





	Late

You woke with a burning in your gut and a cold other side of the bed.

You righted yourself into a sitting position, blinking the fatigue from your eyes. The covers on Tony’s side of the bed were thrown back, the sheets rumpled. The door was ajar, light from somewhere in the house sidling in. The numbers from the digital clock on the bedside table glared at you, green pinpricks in the darkness; 3:14am. 

You groaned to yourself, tossing back your covers, sliding into the slippers at the foot of your bed and shuffling out into the hallway to begin the descent to Tony’s lab. That was where he would be, obviously. When he had nights like these - which was most nights - with fists clutching the sheets, twitching in his sleep and waking up in a cold sweat, feeling the pressure of raw, empty space compress in on him, he retired to his lab, with the quiet hum of his machines and the blue strobe lights for comfort.

You arrived at the glass door to the lab. As you’d suspected, he was there, hunched over something you couldn’t even see or care to make out. You tapped on the door twice, and his head shot up. He barely had time to give you an exasperated look before you were in, traipsing into the cool, humming atmosphere of his laboratory.

“What’re you doing up?” he murmured as you approached. He was sat on an office-style chair, the leather worn and moulded from the hours he spent perched there. You shrugged, setting yourself down on his lap without warning. He grunted, but his arms locked solidly around you, and he pulled you closer to him. You settled sleepily into his chest, watching the faint, flickering blue of the arc reactor rise through his nightshirt. 

“Did you have another nightmare?” you whispered. The question might as well have been rhetorical.

“They’re getting better.” A lie. A hollow lie, but if he wanted to believe that, who were you to deny him it? Instead you shifted yourself, hauling your body around so you sat with one leg between his two, the other over his left thigh. You smiled at him, and he managed a tired parody of a grin in return. “You look tired.”

“I am, silly,” you laughed. “It!s three in the morning.”

“Well, go to bed.” His fingers were tapping a tattoo into the warm skin of the sidde of your leg, much of it visible beneath the cotton of your shorts. The light rhythm felt soothing, but the warm touch of his fingers was doing something else for you. You shifted again.

“I can’t now,” you mumbled. “I’m too awake.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony countered. “Maybe there’s something we can do about that.” His fingers had ceased their tapping; now they danced, drawing light circles and loops over the expanse of your thigh, glancing every mole, dipping inside, brushing ghe material of your pajama shorts. Teasing.

“Mm? What did you have in mind?”

He huffed a laugh. “Ever done it in a lab?”

You rolled your eyes. “You ask me that every time we have sex in here. And anyways, I can’t really be bothered to undress.”

“Lazy girl.” His hand tapped sharply against your leg, more a slap than drumming. “But okay. Have it your way.” His hand abruptly disappeared from your thigh, and along with the other, came to rest on your waist. “If you need to get off, get off.”

You stared at him. “What, ride your thigh? Are we teenagers?”

“Well, being as neither of us can be bothered to go the whole way, why not?” He sensed your uncertainty and leant forward, lips brushing your ear. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart.” 

It was impossible to hold back the shudder that ran through your body as his lips brushed against your earlobe, deliberately enough to be nuzzling it. Instinctively, your body bucked closer to him, closer to the heat of him. Your arm went up, looping around his neck, locking at his nape where the first feathers of dark hair began. Your breath stuttered as his mouth inched higher, kissing his way over the curve of your ear, the space behind.

“Tony.” It was little more than a breath, but he had got his way. Your hips were moving of their own accord, to and fro, searching for rhythm, for friction, for more.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he mumbled. He was mouthing at the space beneath your ear, where the telltale jut of your jaw began. Your teeth clenched in anticipation, your grinding becoming harder, more urgent. 

“I don’t know - I - please,” you whimpered. To your dismay, he pulled back entirely - but it didn’t deter you. You’d found a steady rhythm now, and you clung to it, your body grinding down with all it’s effort. You felt your toes curling in their slippers, your teeth sinking into your lip. As a piece of the rumpled material of Tony’s trousers brushed against your clit, you groaned, knotted your hands in the genesis of his hair and dropped your head to his neck. 

“Fuck - oh - Tony, fuck, please.” A torrent of meaningless nothings tumbled from your mouth, breathy and hot, vibrating against his neck. Tony’s own mouth drifted open in an O at your pleads, your whimpers, your moans, and most of all, the constant, burning rhythm of your heat grinding down on his thigh. Every so often your knee would brush his own dick, and his hands would tighten on your waist, his eyebrows scrunch. 

“What’s that, sweetheart?” He just about managed, a snarky asshole to a fault, because the nickname sent a whole new wave of vigour over you. You cried out as your hips swivelled and grinded, your hands tangling higher in his hair now, endless pleas falling like prayers from your mouth. 

“Oh God, yeah, please, Tony, there, right there, fuck, fuck, oh God, I’m gonna - please please Tony I’m - fuck - I’m gonna-“ 

“Go on, princess.” His fingers flexed at each moan that vibrated against his neck. “Go on.” 

That was all you needed; your hips thrust once more before you threw your head back, crying out as your hands squeezed the roots of Tony’s dark hair so hard he thought you’d pull it out, your entire body shuddering with the weight of your orgasm and then stilling, the movement of your hips becoming weaker and weaker, your breathing going gradually from fast and punctured by moans to slow and deep with exhaustion. 

You swallowed, lifting yourself off him. You were grateful for his dark trousers, else you’d be able to see the wet spot right where you were perched. Tony’s eyes were blown and dark, cheeks red with heat and arousal, one hand still clenched in a fist. 

“Feel better now, sweets?” was what he chose to break the silence with. You nodded, finding words had failed you. He flashed you a smirk. “You should probably sleep, then.” He rose to his feet and kissed you once on the forehead. “I promise I’ll come up soon, ‘kay?” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” you whispered back. With a smile, you turned and tiptoed back out the laboratory, shutting the door gently on your way out. 


End file.
